Dear Readers,
For the second part of this "weekend world," enjoy more of Thomas and Sam's life in New York City, after the Great Flood. One of many time streams that flow out from your own.
Always,
Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople
Thomas flipped the switch next to the wheel, and listened to the low whine as the engine powered up. He had to strain to hear it.
He chuckled, “Well, it’s still no Ferrari, but it’ll do.”
Sam smiled, “Yeah, well, this one doesn’t take any gas, for one thing.”
“True enough. Glad I bought this thing. All my friends thought I was some kind of bleeding heart.” He started to up the throttle and push it off from the High Line.
Sam punched him in the arm, “That’s because you are some kind of bleeding heart, Tommy. But at least now you get to say ‘I told you so’ while you drive your hybrid boat through Manhattan.”
He laughed while he sped up to take them up Ninth Avenue. “If only that made me feel better, Sam. This city is a shadow of what it was before. And with New York, so goes the world.”
She kissed him on the neck, “But we’ve got fish. And each other. Life’s only gotten better, for me at least.”
Thomas grinned, “Well, there is that. Life’s a lot simpler.”
They looked uptown, at the orange-lit remnants of the Meatpacking District. All old nightclubs, long removed from their velvet rope, the buildings reminded everyone of different times. Whenever he thought back to that era of excess, Thomas imagined black coal-smoke clouds lined with gaudy gold and silver. He would skip the gold and silver if it meant no more coal. Nature decided the question for them, anyhow.
This time of day, traffic started to get bad. Never so bad as when cars drove on the streets fathoms below, but nautical traffic is a totally different ballgame. With “brakes” not really an option, it took a lot more effort to avoid collisions. And Manhattan’s avenues were never designed for boat traffic.
“Would you look at that?” Sam pointed.
Thomas probably should have focused on the waterway, but he let his eyes wander for a moment. Just enough to see what made her speak up; what a massive raft! The thing looked like it was thrown together from pieces of many different boats, patched together with tarpaper and pieces of old shipping pallets. Still, she looked beautiful. Painted and clean, a huge black paddle wheel kept the vessel going down the avenue.
Looked like she had a smart designer, too. Though long, the ship’s hull stayed thin and agile throughout. Whoever engineered it kept the concerns of city boating in mind, for sure.
He looked back ahead of him, “She’s a beauty, all right. Someone’s a romantic, though. Looks like one of those Mississippi riverboats.”
Sam smiled, and though Thomas could not see it, he heard it in her voice, “That’s what I like about it. Mixes the old and the new, like everyone’s had to.”
He saw her point, but she always liked that sort of thing a little better. Even before the Flood, she mixed the past, present, and future. His eyebrow raised as he got an idea.
“Why don’t we build one?”
Sam giggled, “Yeah, great idea.”
“No, I’m serious. We could do it. It might not be so practical, and of course we might run into a pirate or two who wants to take it, but if we took our time, we could make a riverboat like that. We’d still have this guy for the short trips.”
She stopped laughing, “You’re serious, huh? Where would we get all the materials we need?”
“Just look around you, Sam. Nobody’s using this city. There’s enough stuff to go around. We’ll loot and trade, like everyone else.”
“Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try. It’s not like we do much else but catch fish, sleep and hide. Let’s do it.”Thomas smiled. After months trying, he found something he could give her to look forward to. For the rest of their ride towards Columbus Circle, he said only, “It’s good to have more than catching fish in life, for once.”
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